Somewhere in suburban Sydney, a plane from Tullamarine Airport touches down on the Kingsford arrivals airstrip, rolling into place to offload the domestic arrivals it carries. A fair few of these no doubt are students and (for some) their families, returning to Sydney from their summer holidays just in time for the new school and university year.
An hour or so later, Mylar Ouyang kicks open the door to his room. Throwing his duffel bag and backpack onto his table, he carelessly knocks aside a bunch of fortnight-old trash, groaning with relief as his shoulders ache a little less. Emptying his pockets of crumpled receipts, napkins bits and lint balls, Mylar then shrugs off his jacket and slings it haphazardly at the dresser at the foot of his bed, collapsing onto the sheets without even checking to see where it landed.
A short while of lying face-down and motionless in exhaustion, he sits up and pulls the water bottle out of the side of his backpack to chug half the bottle down in one go, slaps himself across the cheeks a few times and shakes off the post-travel fatigue. Though the rest of his family were taking a much-needed break right now, there were more important things to Mylar than sleep right now!
Ripping open a packet of potato chips stowed beneath the bed and stuffing a bunch into his mouth to sustain himself for his first session of Terrasphere in what had felt like forever, Mylar has no idea what awaits him beyond the login screen.
Ahh, I love winter in Terrasphere!
Enjoying a relaxing pest-extermination mission in the forests of Astorea, Schilva takes a brief break from cutting down the endless greenskin horde that plagued Western Brisshal to count his kills, scratching some dried goblin blood from his face.
Let's see here; two, four, six, eight...hmm, did I count that one twice? Oh, right-
Remembering that he had been collecting pairs of ears anyway to fulfil the bounty he'd taken, Schilva leans up against a tree to pop open his UI inventory and check the exact amount, reasoning that it'd be more accurate than his own reckoning. So practiced is the motion by now that the lack of response from the fizzling UI button registers on a delay.
Ehh? The hell...
Perhaps thankfully, Schilva scarcely notes the concurrent attacks being ordered upon the Starcalled of Terrasphere, too far from any major cities to hear the knell of destruction sounding across Astorea. What he does notice, quite apart from his UI almost actively dodging his attempts to access anything useful with its glitchiness, was:
Wha...?
As ley lightning arcs and lights the skies with the hue of Szofrit's wrath, the realisation dawns upon Schilva. He may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but even he can tell from the direction of the leylines' arc that the Magia threat had finally come to a head.
Dropping the task at hand and rushing towards the Dragonhead that he had known all too well, Schilva's breath shines silver-pink under the ominous leyline light, bright as day.
Guess it's happening now...I gotta get there quick, otherwise everyone else is going to...
Everyone else is going to get the good loot!
Oh, but he does not know. He does not know at all.
Save
1d100 (10) + 20 + 5 = 35 (FAIL - Schilva is STUCK)
Reflex | Schilva Flasch | NOISE
